Inevitable
by RuffledQuillFeathers
Summary: King Elessar's close brush with death leaves Legolas acutely aware of the possible impending loss of his best friend. The fear of losing his gwador causes the elf to close away, and Aragorn plans a leisurely trip to attempt to reconnect with his best friend. But when shadows of a long-forgotten prophecy arise, will the devoted elf's fears turn to reality? NONSLASH.
1. An Eldar's Torment

**_Hi everyone, this is my first fanfiction in 10 years, so I'm really rusty! I hope I do justice to the friendship between these amazing characters, and the genius that is Tolkien. Nevertheless, comments and reviews are very very much appreciated =)_**

**_Disclaimer: All that is recognizable is not mine. I am humbly borrowing Tolkien's fictional genius, all of which my quill is indeed not fit to write about. _**

**_PS: In this story, I mentioned that Tauriel died in the Battle of the 5 armies. Of course, with the 3rd Hobbit movie not out yet, this could very well turn into alternate-movieverse. Sorry in advance to all Legolas-Tauriel supporters though, I just couldn't imagine how she would survive, not when (SPOILER ALERT) Kili was mentioned to have died in the book._**

**_PPS: Aragorn is implied to be sickly at the beginning of this story, at age 150. We all know that he lived another 50 years after, but hey, Legolas doesn't have to know that. =P_**

**_Enjoy, and please do throw me some suggestions on how to improve/proceed from here! Much appreciated!_**

* * *

It was happening again.

Pale, slender fingers whitened as their grip tightened around a branch, as if attempting to keep a hold on sanity itself. The sturdy old oak tree hummed sympathetically; a gentle reassuring tone heard only by the distraught wood elf nestled safely within its boughs. If one would gaze from below, the elf's serene features, as he laid his forehead against the bark of the great tree, would betray none of the anguish he felt within his heart. Only his blue eyes, when open, would be marred with pain - with the occasional sheen of years of tears unshed; his elven pride simply did not allow him to display such...humanity.

Legolas Greenleaf; prince of Mirkwood, Lord of Ithilien, beloved brother-in-arms of the King of Gondor himself, allowed himself a rare moment of vulnerability in the arms of the trees he so loved. Who would have imagined, he grimly thought, he – the archer unfazed in the face of the legions of Mordor, merciless in the lethality of his bow, could be bowed by something as intangible as the shifting shadows in his mind.

Hazy faces swam behind his closed eyelids. Indistinct shouts and echoing clashes of metal upon metal resounded in his mind, as if he was once again in the heat of battle. Images were flashing before his eyes – bodies strewn on dusty battlegrounds, the lethal glint of swords slicing through the air, the insidious spread of crimson bloodstains on elven tunics, eyes wide with shock and pain…

Yes, those eyes he particularly remembered; after all he had held their gaze in horror as they fell, time slowing as his body subconsciously leapt into action, but always seemingly too slow to reach them before they fell. He would grasp their clammy hands, his frightened blue eyes never leaving theirs as he fought to anchor them to life – watching helplessly as their eyes dimmed from shock to comprehension, and then to horrifyingly serene acceptance as life gradually faded from them. Never would he forget the pain, like cruel knives ripping through his heart as he gazed at those glassy, lifeless orbs each time – _Naneth_, Tauriel, and perhaps frighteningly soon, _Estel…_

The shifting shadows in his mind were clearer lately; the memories more vivid than they have been for decades. Perhaps it was due to the gnawing fear that had been growing lately, especially after the grand celebration of King Elessar's 150th birthday, during which his speech had been unceremoniously interrupted by a violent coughing fit. Royal healers were called, and the guests were ushered out hurriedly. Legolas, ever faithful, had been by his side and beside himself with worry. It was then something hit home; something that Legolas had kept at bay with denial throughout the decades of peace they enjoyed together after the defeat of the Dark Lord. That night, amidst the almost-overpowering scent of _athelas_, the facade was shattered, and the elf was once again acutely aware of sting of mortality, and of his own immortality. The curse of watching those who held his heart depart to where his agile, ever-youthful legs could not follow.

Aah, the curse of immortality. One wonders how a heart can still beat resolutely, when it had been torn out of his soul again and again and again. For mortals can look towards the time when their strength would fail and eyes grow dim, to be welcomed into the eternal rest of the Halls of Mandos, while cursed immortals like him would be forced to endure the pain of saying goodbye, of being left behind by the passing of each soul. He briefly wondered if there would be solace on the day he reached the shores of Valinor but no - he musn't entertain that fleeting thought now, lest the temptation be too strong to resist. Hence, with a sigh, he banished the thought once again, deep into the recesses of his mind, for the sake of the mortal who had won his allegiance, his loyalty, his devotion, his love.

Love. He never was truly able to define the word, nor identify the emotions it stirred within him. With Tauriel, it had been the burning passion in his heart; one he had often confused between the protectiveness of an elder brother, and the jealousy of a lover. With the Lord of Gondor however, it was different - how could he even put it into words? It was the unflinching trust and unspoken understanding borne of years of fighting side by side. It was the surge of loyalty, and devotion with which he would offer up his bow and his very life.

It was the very thing that would make him willingly embrace this pain, day after day, to grasp every last remaining moment that remained with this frail, mortal life.

He knew he could have torn away long ago, or at least withdrawn from the King's life, to prepare his heart for the inevitable farewell. Perhaps it would ease the parting blow. Yet, how could he trade every moment of just being available - open to every emotion, every feeling, and every experience of being with the friend who had so much of his heart? To love at all is to be vulnerable; and Legolas would not trade the sweetness of this friendship for the selfishness of protecting his own heart from the inevitable. Even if the inevitable tormented his every waking moment.

It was happening again.

* * *

King Elessar paced restlessly in his study. His footsteps echoed dully against the cold marble floor. At times he would pause, lifting his eyes to gaze into the fading glow of evening light in the distance. The peaceful spectacle of nature outside his window did little to calm his anxious thoughts. Granted, he had recuperated well from the ordeal 2 weeks ago, but it had shaken him and all who were around him. Including one elf in particular.

"You worry about him"

It was a statement, not a question. He turned at the sound of that gentle familiar voice. His fair queen came up behind him, her eyes soft with understanding.

Aragorn sighed.

"He has been different since then. There is a haunted look in his eyes; I do not know how to describe it. Something ails him, and it pains me to see him so."

Arwen placed her slender arms around her king's neck, feeling the tenseness ebb out of him as he returned the embrace.

"He fears. Do you not understand?"

"Fears what?"

"The same fear that haunts me each night as we retire to bed, _a'maelamin_. The fear that you would not wake to see the dawning of a new day, that each conversation may possibly be our last. The fear that Estel may one day be gone from us."

Still holding his wife in his embrace, Aragorn looked questioningly into her eyes. Grey met grey, and he saw the truth in her words. It pained him to realize that his queen was tormented too by his mortality, as much as she rarely revealed her true fears. She continued, her voice soothing.

"Weary yourself not with guilt, Estel. It was a choice I made, and never once have I regretted it. And it is a choice Legolas made as well, when he chose to resist the call of the sea to remain in Ithilien. He loves you, and you know that. It's only natural that he should fear as well."

The King of Gondor sighed again.

"But how would we truly live, if we live in constant fear of death? I miss the carefree Legolas of old."

Arwen smiled sadly.

"It isn't his fault. Legolas has been through much in his life. The violent loss of his _Naneth_ when he was young, King Thranduil distancing himself…even as a mere elfling, he had to learn independence. A well-respected and loved prince he was, but immensely private about his emotions. And then there was Tauriel, the captain of Mirkwood's guard that he grew fond of. He lost her too; first to the dwarf, and then in the battle of the 5 armies."

Aragorn nodded, recalling the story. Legolas had not told him much; just that his father had never approved of her, and that she had perished fighting alongside a dwarf. Arwen continued.

"The torment of an Eldar, to continue living with the memories and loss for eternity, with no solace or rest. It is only natural to protect one's heart, forging kinships only with fellow immortals. And so he did, until he met you. You taught him to live, to love again. His heart, well guarded for millennia, was laid bare when he chose to love you, an _Edain_. And that is why; he fears the day that you would pass to a place that he cannot follow. The day that he would continue existing, but stop living."

_But he grieves unnecessarily, _Aragorn silently thought. Blind optimism, perhaps, but he had recovered well, and wished dearly for his friend to be sharing this time with him.

"My death may be inevitable, but his fears needn't be. If only he could recall the joy of living in present moments, instead of dwelling on what's to come".

Arwen smiled.

"Maybe, Estel, it's up to you to remind him"

* * *

**_So how did you guys like Chapter 1? Please rate, review, and throw me suggestions! Thank you!_**

_Edain: Human_

_Naneth: Mother_

_A'maelamin: My beloved_

_Melamin: My love_


	2. Just Like Old Times

_**Alright, so here is Chapter 2. I found this harder to write than chapter 1 - clearly am very rusty indeed! Do comment, please, I'm desperate to improve! Also...I would be very appreciative indeed if anyone wanted to Beta-read the story... **_

* * *

Aragorn knew precisely what he had to do. He was concerned at first; understandably so, as he would be away from his kingdom for a couple of days at the very least. But his beautiful queen had wisely laid his fears to rest.

"Worry not, _Melamin_." Arwen said with a gentle smile "Eldarion has grown into a fine young man, and he is well versed with the intricacies of running a kingdom. It would be good practice for the day he actually ascends the throne, nay?"

Aragorn nodded, a surge of pride welling up within him as he fondly pictured his only son. Now a strapping young man, Eldarion had shown immense prowess in growing to be the future leader of his people. A natural diplomat and wise for his age, he had earned the love and respect of the subjects of Gondor; along with the hearts of many a fair maiden throughout the land.

His wife continued "Plus, he will have Faramir guiding him every step of the way".

Aragorn had no doubts about that. The level-headed, mild-mannered steward of Gondor was one of the main reasons the Gondorian king had kept his sanity throughout his years of reign. His worries assuaged, Aragorn kissed his wife tenderly and began to pack his belongings for the journey ahead. He intended to leave early, and preferably unnoticed. He knew that his steward and the captain of his guard would be highly affronted at his sudden leave; "lack of kingly prudence", they always remarked. However, he wanted this to be a meeting between the Mirkwood elf and the Ranger of the North, not the King of Gondor and his many guards. It had to be like old times again. His _mellon_ deserved it.

_'We will not be far, no more than a league or so North of Ithilien'_ King Elessar reasoned to himself. _'Plus, the kingdom has had peace for decades, what could happen now?"_

* * *

Tálagor raised his regal head and nickered at the familiar scent. The early rays of dawn illuminated the cloaked silhouette of his master at the door of his stable. Hushing his loyal mount, Aragorn, proceeded to saddle the stallion and led him out onto the courtyard. The guards would open the gate at his command, he was certain of that. And without a doubt, Faramir would hear of it. He would have to count on Arwen to dissuade the irate steward of Gondor from sending out a team of guards to respectfully-by-force bring their wayward king back.

Aragorn smiled apologetically as he imagined the worry-lined, exasperated face of his steward. There would be time for explanations and forgiveness later. For now, Legolas needed him more. And with that thought he nudged Tálagor into a canter, and rode towards the peaceful green forests of Ithilien.

* * *

"To what do we owe the pleasure, my Lord?"

No sooner had Aragorn entered into the realm of the Ithilien elves that he was greeted by the familiar, melodious voice. A moment later, the blonde elf dropped easily from a nearby tree and strode towards him, a gentle smile playing on his lips.

"Legolas. I've missed you, _mellon-nin_".

"As have I, _gwador._"

They gripped each other's shoulders, an unspoken bond of love and trust. Legolas gave his friend a once over, and was relieved that the King appeared to have made a good recovery from his illness a mere fortnight ago. Still, the Wood-elf was concerned.

"You should not have come alone, Estel. I fear you may still be weak."

Aragorn was saddened to see the haunted look in his friend's eyes, poorly concealed by his soft smile.

"Nonsense, my friend. I have made a full recovery, as you can see."

Legolas conceded with a sigh.

"I would still have you travel with a guard. It is dangerous for the King to travel alone."

"Normally I would agree, but it is not as King Elessar that I come here today."

Questioning blue eyes met his gaze.

"What brings you to our woods, Estel?"

"I came to see you, _mellon-nin_. You have been distant of late. Something bothers you, my friend, and I would have you tell me, if you are willing".

The elven eyes darkened slightly as Legolas withdrew. For a moment, the images swirled before his eyes again; the swords, the blood, the eyes. He banished them forcefully.

"It is nothing. You need not worry, _mellon_. To see you here and well has done much to ease my soul. "

Elven pride. Sometimes Aragorn wished that his friend were not so stoic. But he knew better than to attempt to pry any further. Legolas was never one to share his feelings easily, and he would respect his friend's privacy.

"Then will you join me on a little hunt? I find myself missing our rides through the forests of Imladris, hunting elk and other game".

"Or fleeing from Elladan and Elrohir" Legolas fondly recalled.

"They did catch us in the end, if I remember."

"Because you misjudged a jump and fell off your horse. Lord Elrond was not pleased."

Aragorn groaned at the memory "Ah yes. It was my second broken leg in 3 months."

"Who can fault you, o' clumsy mortal?"

The wood elf chuckled, as he dodged a well-aimed blow to his midriff. His laughter brought a sense of relief to Aragorn; too long had his friend brooded in silence.

"So will you come?"

"Aye, Estel, I shall."

* * *

It wasn't long before the two friends were riding together through the fair woods of Ithilien, leaving all cares of governing and lordship behind them. The warm morning rays filtered through the leaves, as the trees rustled their welcome towards the wood-elf and his dear friend. Legolas lifted his face with a contented smile, enjoying the gentle caress of the morning breeze on his fair elven features. He had not felt this way in a while.

Aragorn was pleased to see the serene look on his friend's face. 'Just like old times indeed', he beamed. It struck him as odd that they were able to enjoy this ride in private, however.

"I'm surprised your guards did not follow us. In fact, I haven't seen any of them since I arrived."

"Oh, they watch us from the trees", came the reply. "They noted your arrival, but did not interfere with our meeting. Though, on no account would they allow us to ride out unwatched. Not when I'm with you."

Aragorn chuckled. He couldn't blame them. The Ithilien elves that had followed their prince from Mirkwood were clearly familiar with the elf and ranger's colourful history together. Too many times have the pair wound up grievously injured under the care of Lord Elrond or King Thranduil's royal healers. Both Mirkwood and Rivendell had been rudely awakened on numerous occasions to either the distraught elf or ranger returning with the other in tow, hanging inches from death.

"I'm amazed King Thranduil had never decreed that I was never to set foot anywhere near you".

"Believe me, _Ada_ would have done so, had he not known that the same would happen in Imladris. And he would be helpless to prevent it"

More laughter.

"With all that we've survived, _mellon_, one would think I would live forever."

He regretted those words immediately as he said it. The shadow flitted again across his friend's face. Legolas did not reply.

Aragorn rode ahead and whirled Tálagor around to face Legolas, on Nimroch. The pair halted. They were now in a beautiful glade, but Aragorn's eyes was on his friend's alone.

"Legolas, you cannot deny that this has been haunting you. I've seen it in your eyes since that day. You still fear my death, even though I am now well."

The elf did not meet his gaze. "And what if I do, _mellon_?" came his soft reply. Aragorn began to protest, but Legolas continued.

"You asked me to resist the Sea-longing to remain here with you. How would you feel I chose otherwise?"

He never saw it that way before. It occurred to him that he never had to fear being the one left behind. Still, he had to protest.

"Legolas, I-"

Suddenly, Legolas stiffened, silencing the human with an urgent flick of his palm. His lithe figure was tense; the piercing blue eyes gazing intently into the trees.

"Something stirs in the wood. We are being watched."

Aragorn was suddenly apprehensive. "Orcs?"

"No. I do not smell orc stench. But the shadow is upon these ones as well."

Aragorn held his breath as the elf scanned the perimeter, one hand reaching for the longbow across his back. And with a jolt, the king noted something in the elf that was never there in all their years of battling side by side.

Fear.

* * *

_**Sorry for the little cliffie, guys! Please Review, all feedback is dearly appreciated!**_

_Melamin: _My love

_Mellon-nin_: My friend

_Gwador_: Brother

_Ada_: Father

_Tálagor_: Elvish horse name for Fast foot

_Nimroch_: Elvish horse name for white horse.


	3. Haradrim

**Alright, here is chapter 3. Thank you to a-mild-looking-sky and Teapot of Transformation for the kind reviews! Once again, please do feel free to leave me comments on how to improve, or anything you might wanna see move/change in the story.**

**PS - I changed the title of the story, because I realized the original title was really only sutable for Chapter 1. Haven't actually finalized a title that just 'clicks', so there may be still title changes coming up! Nevertheless, the storyline will remain.**

**Thank you, and enjoy!**

* * *

Legolas felt his heart thump agonizingly against his chest. Surely, he thought, surely Aragorn must hear its frantic beat. Legolas glanced anxiously at his friend, noting the greying locks marring the head of dark hair and the tell-tale lines of age streaking his face. '_This is no longer the swift-footed ranger I once fought alongside_', the archer grimly thought. And he felt fear – fear like never before, not for himself but for the _edan _whose fragile life could be snuffed out at any wrong move. A miscalculated step…a bow drawn a second too slow…and it could all be over. And Aragorn could be….no, he couldn't allow himself to reach that thought.

_The sickening sound of metal slicing through unprotected flesh…eyes wide in shock and pain…_

Against his will, the image flared across his mind's eye again. In that momentary lapse in concentration, the stillness of the glade broke as scores of arrows whistled through the air towards them.

The elven archer snapped into action. With a practiced whisk of the reins, he whirled Nimroch behind a nearby clump of bushes, aware of the ranger-king doing the same thing behind him. At that very moment, another arrow sliced through the air from another direction, narrowly missing Tálagor's shoulder. The noble chestnut steed reared in fear and broke into a gallop, dislodging his unprepared rider from his back.

Aragorn found himself falling through the air, landing painfully on his left hip. He heard a shout of fear from Legolas, along with a sickening crack as the bone made contact with the ground.

With all the agility of his eternal youth, Legolas leapt from his horse while unbuckling his saddle pack, allowing it to fall to the ground.

"Drego, Nimroch, hortho! Flee, Nimroch, hurry!" he commanded his horse as he rushed to Aragorn's side. The horse needed no other encouragement, taking off after Tálagor. Ignoring the arrows still whizzing above their heads and ensuring that they were reasonably concealed in the bushes, Legolas knelt by his friend in concern. The sheen of perspiration on the man's brow and the way his hand clenched at his thigh told him all he needed to know. Aragorn attempted to push himself up, but was restrained by the elf.

"Lie still, Estel. How fares the pain?"

"Bearable. I do not think the hip is dislocated. Perhaps a mild fracture" came the reply; the shakiness in the man's voice betraying the pain he was trying to conceal.

Legolas remained unconvinced. "Perhaps, but you cannot fight this way. We cannot risk further injury"

"Its not unstable. We are surrounded, Legolas, there is nowhere to flee. We must fight."

"You are in no condition to fight, Estel!" Already, the elf could hear the sound of encroaching footsteps – too many for his liking. "The enemy is almost upon us. Stay here, I will – "

Before Aragorn could protest, the elf had sprung to his feet, notching an arrow into his bow. The great bow of Lorien sang, and an agonizing cry told him that the arrow had found its mark. Legolas continued to let fly arrow after arrow as he nimbly dodged those from the enemy; a deadly dance in which one wrong step would be fatal. From his hiding place behind the bushes, Aragorn could no longer see the elf and relied instead on hearing the sounds of the battle. A loud clash of metal upon metal told him that Legolas had abandoned the bow, and was now in close combat with the opponent using his twin knives. The enemy was closing in.

Suddenly, Aragorn realized that another group was fast approaching from the direction where the second arrow was fired. 'They are too many', he thought in horror. Too many for the famed elven archer to defeat by himself. He had to help.

The king gritted his teeth and reached for Anduril, which had fallen next to him, and used the sword to awkwardly clamber to his feet. Burning pain stabbed through his hip, and he resisted the urge to cry out as he took a step. It was agonizing, yes, but his assessment had been accurate – the fracture was not unstable, and he could still bear weight. Lifting his sword with as much willpower as he could muster, he dove into the heat of battle.

* * *

SLASH! Another hooded figure fell to the ground lifeless, dropping his red-tipped spear. As he fell, the hood shifted to reveal dark skin streaked with scarlet and white paint, triggering a memory of a distant past in the elf's battle-weary mind. These were the men of the Haradrim – but why? The Haradrim were brutal warriors of the South; servants of Sauron during the War of the Ring. He had battled them at Pelennor Fields, and never would he forget their ferocity in battle and the rampage of their massive, destructive Mûmakil. But that was a time long past, the Haradrim had since submitted to the rule of King Elessar, so why an attack now on the king?

Legolas did not have time to dwell on his curiosity. For out of the corner of his eye, he saw an image that made his heart stop – Aragorn, clearly limping badly, attempting to parry and deflect the deadly scimitars intent on taking his life.

"Ai, Elbereth!" Legolas exclaimed in fear and exasperation. _'Foolish mortal, he will get himself killed!'_ With a deft swing of his blade, he cut down another opponent, simultaneously maneuvering his attacker's spear to pierce through another two men who were inching up behind him. Still battling, he attempted to move closer to Aragorn, ready to defend him if needed.

Aragorn felt himself begin to tire. It had been decades since his last battle, and his reflexes had slowed significantly from the time of his youth. His left hip was throbbing painfully, along with the sting of numerous small cuts that his opponents' scimitars and spears had sliced into his skin. None of them were serious, thank the Valar, but had he been the Aragorn of decades past, he would still be completely unscathed at this point.

Legolas kept a worried eye on his friend through his own battles. He could see the tell-tale signs of fatigue, weakness, and pain starting to overwhelm the _edan_. They had held their own well, but this could not continue – they were still hopelessly outnumbered. Legolas scanned frantically for a way of escape and to his dismay, found none. They had to fight, to keep fighting until the bloody end.

_Screams of pain echoed around him. Orcs were falling by the multitudes, but so were the brave wood elves that were fearlessly defending their homeland and their beloved prince. The elfling tried to stifle his sobs. It was his fault – his curiosity had led him to sneak out of the palace, to see the infamous Dol Guldur for himself. He never reached the fortress itself; having stumbled onto a band of bloodthirsty orcs some distance from its borders, but the outcome was the same. King Thranduil had been away at Imladris for a council meeting. Ignoring the protests of the captain, Queen Faervel chose to ride out with the guard to rescue her beloved son._

_With a practiced swing, his naneth beheaded a nearby orc and rushed over to him, soothing her son with gently murmured Sindarin. She did not see the hideous orc coming up behind her, his mouth curled in an ugly leer and his filthy blade raised for the kill. Legolas lifted his blurry, tear-filled eyes too late; in time to see the blade cruelly slice through his naneth's body, and hear the piteous moan of pain elicited from her lips. Queen Faervel crumbled to the ground, her body still protectively draped around the distressed elfling. And with tears streaming down her face, and with as much love that her failing body could muster into her shaky voice, she whispered:_

_"Amin mela lle, tithen Las"_

Dimly aware that he was still fighting despite the flashback, Legolas swung his knives wildly, taking out several more attackers in his renewed anguish. Suddenly, a barely stifled cry of pain jerked the elf back into his senses, and in the direction of his friend. To his horror, he saw that Aragorn had fallen to the ground and was desperately attempting to push himself away. In front of him, a hooded figure stood poised to kill, his deadly blade glinting in the sunlight.

* * *

One wrong step. One wrong step back, and Aragorn felt his leg give way. He fell, landing on his injured left hip, and could not stop the agony from bursting out of his lips. The man standing of him raised his scimitar. In that moment, familiar faces flashed before Aragorn's eyes – Arwen, Eldarion, his beloved daughters – and he whispered an apology

"Forgive me…"

Suddenly, a well-aimed arrow whistled through the air, embedding itself deep into the chest of his assailant. The dark-skinned man crumpled to the ground unmoving. Aragorn turned. His elven friend stood amidst the dead Haradrim bodies, his bow drawn, the look on his face murderous. But before the king could indicate his thanks, he saw the lithe body arch sharply, the fair elven features contort in sheer agony. And to his horror, his friend stumbled and fell onto his knees, revealing the looming figure behind him, brandishing a blood-stained scimitar.

* * *

**Another cliffie..yes, sorry..I'll try not to let you guys wait long for the next one. Poor Legolas, he always seems to have to bear the brunt of all the angst and the pain, doesn't he? Please review!**

_Edan:_ human

_Queen Faervel: _Faervel means strong spirit.

_Amin mela lle, tithen Las: _I love you, little Leaf.


End file.
